Bugs of Wizen Technologies,

Idlewild have continually changed, they’ve explored, consolidated new areas of sound but retained their expertise in the loudness which first brought them to the public’s attention. The new album, Post Electric Blues, probably relies more on the folk/solo work of Roddy Woomble than before, of course, the involvement of Heidi Talbot and John McCusker points towards this.

My favourite song is possibly the final track, Take Me Back In Time. I like the way it spins down with a sense of fatalism. My favourite lyric is ‘when you reach the end of the road, you still need somewhere to go’, it isn’t particularly meaty from a poetic viewpoint but is striking in its context.

Idlewild played Fat Sam’s, Dundee to promote the new album. The first band on the bill were Make Love but we arrived just as they were finishing up, they did not end with a climactic flourish, perhaps in the future, they will endear themselves to me.

Sparrow and the Workshop were next up. They are a three-piece who are based on Glasgow. Singer Jill has a really captivating voice; chillingly, it rings around the room. Devil’s Song is perhaps their signature tune but not all of their songs are so jaunty and energetic.

Idlewild put on a lively performance with a setlist that plucked the more raucous tracks from each of their now extensive back catalogue. Many of those earlier songs sound so much better now that Roddy’s voice has aged and I think there is a case for re-recording songs like Little Discourage, These Wooden Ideas and, especially, When I Argue I See Shapes.

This was the setlist:

City Hall

Younger Than America

Little Discourage

I Don't Have The Map

These Wooden Ideas

Roseability

Idea Track

No Emotion

A Ghost In The Arcade

Actually, It's Darkness

When I Argue I See Shapes

Post Electric

Annihilate Now!

You Held The World In Your Arms

Blame It On The Obvious Ways

Too Long Awake

***

Readers & Writers

A Modern Way Of Letting Go

I stood next to a man who used the ‘What song is this?’ application on his iPhone on every song. No titles matched every song, so he tried to work it out based on the Idlewild songs stored on his iPhone but he only had The Remote Part album. I was perhaps too nosy, I thought that his lack of success in naming the songs would have hampered his enjoyment but the wrote an SMS later which begun, ‘Idlewild are really very good…’ The most amusing part of this man’s confusion was the fact that he was stood by the mixing desk where the setlist was clearly visible.

Idlewild are one of Scotland’s treasures; like Belle & Sebastian and Teenage Fanclub, they’re prolific, they sit just outside the mainstream public’s consciousness but they’re still adored by those who know what’s right. They never disappoint.

Grapplers Missing Picture Winters,

Roll up your sleeves for winter!

People of words and little importance seem to have a great effect on how days unfold. The ability to be accommodating is dying out. Driving is periods of boredom when I mull over the events that piled up on me like the larch needles on the road.

I had to photocopy a form for one of the office staff, normally, she’d do it but I guess I had disturbed her from more pressing work so I headed along to the photocopier and was the victim of a paper jam. Rather than try to dismantle a photocopier, I popped into the main office next door and asked the only secretary there if she could help me, and this is what made me cranky, they huffed and puffed her way through with me to the photocopier, apologetically and in a self-deprecating way I said to my reluctant photocopy saviour, ‘And I’m meant to be the scientist…’, but she grunted, ‘Well, I’m not a scientist.’, so I stood in awkward silence whilst she tore. She was cranky but there was no need to be contagious.

I’m the king of improvisation and my protégé is learning this slowly but his brand of makeshift lacks belief. His pessimism and feeling of hopelessness makes my patience feel improper and obscene. At the opposite end of the scale, I received some good news – something for my CV – and I was expected to whoop but I disappointed the messenger by accepting the news with the pragmatism that I treat everything with.

The Friday lab class are unlucky, I seem to be in charge of them despite my junior position within the chain of responsibility. I run around trying to ensure the health and safety of the class whilst gaining good results but the staff member in charge sits and watches me. After staring at a dripping tank creating a dangerous puddle for three hours, she rose to tell me off because one of the class was wearing tights and unsuitable shoes. I’m well paid for my endeavours but there’d be less broken glass with a little more support.

Autumn seemed to happen all of a sudden for me and it depressed me, perhaps it took a windy day for me to notice the leaves had wilted and fallen. Autumn should be a slow time of wistfulness in which to indulge. If time would slow, I could concentrate on me, I’m not on a bench reading a book, enjoying a rainbow over the harbour; I’m just dealing with the consequences, and, possibly, wearing a jumper.

Circumscribers of Astringent Tendancies,

Around the time I was obsessed by noctilucent clouds, I was told that the Scottish sky was beautiful and lately, I’ve come to agree. This morning, I didn’t have to look outside to understand this; it was on the BBC local news behind Scottish newsreader, Catriona Shearer, although it might have been a case of ‘red sky in the morning, shepherd’s warning’, I thought it was nice.

The autumnal mornings are here and I’ve consulted the bank of woolly jumpers. The weather has been mostly calm apart from the windstorm of a few weeks ago; having been dispatched to deepest East Lothian to take part in a football match in its midst, I had to mount the pavement to drive around a fallen tree on one route used whilst lost. Satellite navigation is a brilliant concept but useless in practice if the co-pilot decides to argue with the direction angel.

The weeks pass, they pass in the same way and despite consciously trying to do something different, the time passes too quickly and in the torrent of time, I can only react the same way I always do. I stepped out to do something culturally significant; I went to Embra to buy records, I enjoy the train ride and it’s also an ideal time to read. I wonder if the train station attendant at Kirkcaldy is playing a game with discount railcard holders, I ask for a ticket and say that I have a railcard (a Young Persons card) ergo I pay the fare with a discount of one third the price, she says the cost, it makes sense to me, I hand over the money, she gives me tickets and I put them in my pocket without caring. The ticket inspector asks to see my ticket, I hand it over and he asks, ‘Where is your child?’ and confusion ensues. The attendant must do this deliberately; it sets the inspectors up for a few good wisecracks, she must think I’ll give him any old discount – family, senior citizen, pregnant lady, meteorologist - that’ll teach him from taking disadvantage of Scotrail discount schemes. My missing child was a better problem than my lost ‘age rejuvenation pills’.

I stepped out of the rat race to do two good deeds on Sunday, one person will never know the benefits of the results, the other good deed was nearly undone by death. I saw an associate on a bridge walking home and I pulled over to pick them up, on delivering them home, I was faced with a motorcyclist, of the helmetless ned variety, illegally speeding towards me as I passed some parked cars. Thankfully, they managed to stop, I had done all I could to slow and pull towards a tiny opening at the side.

One of my first favourite songs was Wide Open Sky by Goldrush, I’m sure it was a Record of the Week on Mark and Lard’s Biggest Show. I’m reminded of it when I think of the colours.

Caressing Bolsterers Witnessing the Brandish,

The arrival of students to the town fills me with dread. I’m old, cynical and beleaguered. I pity their naivety as they gather in the streets on the first day of Fresher’s Week and call to each other, ‘How are you finding it so far, dude?’ The answer this time was ‘Amazing.’, but this was not a sunny day. I had run out to purchase some Lucozade to ensure that I finished the day standing. They were bounding around with posters, no doubt of the trendiest bands of the day: Kings of Leon, Snow Patrol, Arctic Monkeys etc and this somehow saddened me because amongst the poster-wielding maniacs, a true musical talent walked, or at least someone who looked very much like them. There walked someone whose music I admire and have bought and he hasn’t attracted a second thought from this rambunctious crowd. I don’t believe in pestering famous people, I’ve never approached one. An autograph or a photo is probably not all that life-enhancing, but an enlightening discussion over a coffee is probably out of the question.

Minor appointments distort the day and I lose focus. I lost a day to spending a minute with the dentist. Such occurrences perhaps justify the hilarious entrepreneurial project that was Craig and David’s Sandwich Shop and Backstreet Dentistry. It’d save time, so too would midnight dentistry, check-ups whilst you sleep, go on Dragon’s Den.

I find myself in a position of having to replace myself and it’s not easy. The situation is awkward because I’m not an expert in what I do; I try, I improvise, I’m patient, I accept, I believe, I interpret. It’s difficult to try to force my ways upon someone else and I don’t really want to because I envisage my successor improving my techniques and results. I believe my successor will achieve but building confidence is slow; I’m limited to ‘Can you set up and I’ll be along in a while?’, hopefully, we’ll move on from this stage soon and I can return to serving in an advisory capacity.

Flippant Malcontents Regretting Expurgation,

The great and the good of the music industry were once again assembled in tense anticipation of the announcement of The Bellyaches Music Prize 2009. This year’s event was held aboard the North Carr Lightship in Victoria Harbour, Dundee and, as ever, hosted by the genial Bryan Burnett.

This year’s field was very strong, 2009 has proved an exceptionally good year for music and the judges had a difficult task choosing a winner.

Secret Soundz Vol. 1 by The Pictish Trail: After years of being part of Fence Records and a member of King Creosote’s backing band, The Pictish Trail finally released an album. The album mixes two influences; beautiful Fence Collective folk and Hot Chip-inspired electronica. The album is epitomised by the wonderful track I Don't Know Where to Begin.

When the Haar Rolls In by James Yorkston: This album is dreamy, cosy and a perfect defence against the credit crunch. Isolate yourself, press play, ponder James’ anecdotes and relax with his melodies, forget that Woolworths has closed down.

My Maudlin Career by Camera Obscura: Camera Obscura are consistently brilliant, they can create poignant melancholy ballads as well as jaunty pop numbers. My Maudlin Career is wonderfully composed to provide the most fitting ambiences to Tracyanne Campbell’s lyrics and voice.

Prevention by De Rosa: Sadly, De Rosa split up a few months after the release of Prevention, a musical study in existentialism combining the folk and electronica genres to perfection.

Checkmate Savage by The Phantom Band: Heavy, powerful but catchy, Checkmate Savage is another example of Chemikal Underground’s run of form in 2009.

God Help the Girl: Stuart Murdoch gathered around a huge collective of wonderful singers and musicians to put together this soundtrack to a yet-to-be made filum. The range of talented vocalists add variety to superbly composed tracks, it’s Belle & Sebastian but with a few extra goodies tagged on.

Deaths and Entrances by My Latest Novel: The long-awaited follow-up to Wolves draws upon works of cultural and social significance to inspire its listeners to come together and understand. My Latest Novel majestically make harmonies of four vastly different vocal work, these are accompanied by their layered guitars, keys, percussion and violins to create a startlingly beautiful sound.

Until the Earth Begins to Part by Broken Records: Energetic and wistful, this mini-orchestra from Embra do it all using traditional instruments and by putting in a shift.

Reservoir by Fanfarlo: Smart orchestral indie-pop is their trade, Reservoir is their product. Fanfarlo offer a positive, pragmatic approach to life that naysayers would do well to listen to.

Waxing Gibbous by Malcolm Middleton: Music’s funniest star doesn’t disappoint with more modest brilliance; of course, he’s not going to let people down if he’s helped out by Pictish Trail, King Creosote, Jenny Reeve and other talented people. He’s this generation’s bookkeeper.

Into the Ruin by Drever, McCusker and Woomble: Woomble brings his soft Embra indie vocals, Kris Drever has a harder, more traditional folk style that is very much Orkney and McCusker’s fiddle is like a vocal itself. Everyone will have their own favourite song from Into the Ruin, it’s folk, it’s pop, it’s accomplished.

Lord Cut-Glass: Alun Woodward’s first solo release under the guise of Lord Cut-Glass is playful but poignant, with the aid of a nine-piece orchestra, he charms and surprises his listeners at each corner on this journey through the streets of time.

Bryan Burnett invited stand-in weather presenter Jean Johansson onto the deck to present the prize, the Bellyaches trophy and a set of commemorative porkpie hats, as unenthusiastically as ever to My Latest Novel for Deaths and Entrances. The drummer was sent up to collect the award whilst the rest of the band browser Twitter using their cell phones back in their area. The evening was drawn to an abrupt close after a loud splash was heard, a bunch of local youths had rolled the unfortunate Bryan Burnett's Toyota Prius into the harbour. In desperate fear of being replaced by Pat Nevin, Bryan then plunged into the water to desperately retrieve his list of theme ideas for the Get It On show.

Drenching Wraiths of the East,

Weather apocalypse arrived. The hook of a very wet depression positioned itself right over the the east coast of Fife and deposited its load unrelentlessly for two days. It was said the average month's rainfall fell in a day. The north east of the country experienced the worst of the weather with flooding forcing many homes to be evacuated.

In the Kingdom of Fife, many roads were closed and some were barely passable. I opted out of the main road to work, a bus route, as I suspected that the debris washed onto the road might have rendered the road tricky but in fact, the road had been closed north of Upper Largo. The route I chosed was treacherous, I found myself sliding down a hill uncontrolled at once stage. Later on, one of the many fords had caused the traffic to stand to grind to a halt, people got out to have a look. One car had taken on too much water and was broken down, a van helped to tow it of the main road and the other cars passed but the water was passed the bottom of the door. Most driving was done in the middle of the roads, and cars frequently stopped to give way to each other at every fjord except one rebellious lady who decided to drive at me in a Mr Bean-stylee with horns-a-tooting.

All this chaos unfolded as Batty ran off on holiday, it's a weather conspiracy.

Surfeiters in Jaded Cynicism,

Inspired by In the Aeroplane Over the Sea by Neutral Milk Hotel, I took on Anne Frank: The Diary of a Young Girl. Behind every news headline, there are millions of personal tales – this is the greatest event of the century and perhaps its most famous individual story.

My feeling is that World War II is really only a backdrop to an examination of family life in an extremely condensed environment. Of course, the diary is a unique insight into the hardships a family in hiding would have to face, the food they had, the deterioration of their clothes, the lack of warmth, their relationship with their hiders and the precautions they had to take but it is far more. To trivialise the situation and verge upon being insensitive, modern Western comparisons could be drawn with Big Brendan-type reality shows, where people are made to live in close quarters on top of each other, with mounting frustrations, their relationships can be observed. This comparison is gross and does not take into account the grave outcome of failure or the conditions which forced the families into hiding.

I always try to compare situations in books to modern life or identify characters with those I cross. With two families and a dentist in hiding, it’s fairly easy to match up characters perhaps with another family, even if they don’t correspond entirely closely, and better understand how they might feel about those around them using Anne’s evaluations of the people in the Secret Annexe. I haven’t visited many Booboo, Bacefook or MyArse pages featuring the questionnaire entitled ‘Which hiding person in the Secret Annexe, Holland, 1945 are you?’

Initially, Anne appears as someone who is a pain, who riles everyone, who seems selfish and arrogant, but Anne is at least smart enough to know this and confess this in her writings. I admit that I didn’t find Anne entirely likeable, I aligned myself with Margot, but that possibly relates to my position in the birth order of my own family. The diary conveys feelings that might be familiar to many younger siblings in a family; Anne sometimes feels that Margot has set standards that are exceptional and that her parents should not expect her to meet, Anne feels under pressure by the comparison she believes her parents are making.

I think towards the end, and this is easier realised in hindsight, the diary serves as a record of some of the errors and lost gambles the hiders made, however, at the time of reading, the hiders seem to become invincible as these incidents (break-ins, doors left unlocked etc) and a sense of hope begins to grow as 1944 goes on. Although I knew the outcome and when the war ended, I found myself thinking that they’ve made it to 1944, they’re in reasonably good spirits to survive into 1945, which is crazy, but that is down to Anne’s optimism and perhaps distraction in Peter van Daan.

Anne Frank’s diary doesn’t give definitive facts that to educate people about all of World War II or the Holocaust, it’s a diary, a personal account of a life endured during that time. I have never read another person’s diary before but my own opinion is that the diary serves as a historical document which details the conditions of hiders, these are the facts (what they did to survive etc) but the rest of it, whilst not of use to historians, serves as a lesson on the dynamics of two families and a stranger living in very close quarters under gravely testing circumstances.

Proclaimers of Cloudy Incantations,

In the wake of last evening’s unusually wicked rainstorms in the Kingdom of Fife, it’s worth considering the presentation of our television weather forecasts. The weather bulletins last around two minutes and they are shockingly bad. If our weather bulletins were more detailed, the public could be more educated and better prepared.

The question of what people want from a weather forecast needs to be asked. The best weather segments on British television are the weekly forecast on BBC1’s Countryfile or Country Tracks, these show the weekly forecast in relation to the pressure sequences and weather systems in the Atlantic are discussed in brief, or Radio 5Live’s World Weather with Philip Eden in the middle of Tuesday night, thus the most detail we are accustomed to is the odd isobar chart now and again (the values of the highs and lows aren’t even given). I say the public deserve more data and information: upper atmosphere trends, sea/ocean temperatures, international weather patterns and more. There is no need to patronise us with what is in essence just a guess as to whether it will be wet or dry tomorrow, if that is all the public want to know, they will have to keep referring to forecasts, but if they were informed of other longer-range data, they might be able to understand and make predictions for themselves.

I think there are some fantastic meteorologists in this country but they are denied the chance to educate the public and display their knowledge when reduced to role of mere presenters. For example, cult hero Sean Batty on STV, I have the impression that he is a real enthusiast of meteorology; when he first began on STV news, he’d prepare many interesting graphics, but as time has passed, he has been reduced to symbols and simply delivering a rain verdict for the next day. I miss the days of classic Sean. Another example is Des Coleman on BBC East Midlands, he started off as an actor and now he’s the morning weatherman, he’s a great character, he’s passionate and he’ll have undergone training but surely, the public deserve a time-served graduate of meteorology who might expand their horizons.

I want to know how things will turn out tomorrow, I’m away to lick my finger and hold it in the air.